


It Was Curiosity!

by snaxarba



Series: Tomarry Works [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Crossdressing Kink, Harry in Lingerie, Harry is a Tease, Harry likes pretty things, Harry's parents are alive, Humour, Jumping to Conclusions, Lemon, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Smut, am i projecting?, don't kinkshame, leg fetish, most likely, you'll understand when you read it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-03-23 19:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13795020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snaxarba/pseuds/snaxarba
Summary: Harry was a naturally curious man and that lead him to do many things. His recent fascination with women's clothing and how soft they looked made him obsess over one thing - he wanted to also use women's clothing. But of course, just as he was downed in nothing but lingerie, something terrible ensued.





	1. Chapter One - Regret

**Author's Note:**

> don't hate me for this or my lackluster update schedule

**Chapter One - Regret**

 

There were many things that Harry had often regretted in his lifetime.

For one, he regretted that time he decided to go along with his friends to a bar and get completely smashed. The morning after warranted some sort of terrible headache and a constantly nauseous stomach that he couldn’t shake off, but he didn’t just stop at drinking that night apparently. He got a tattoo.

And it wasn’t even a tasteful tattoo, it was a tattoo of the words “Fuck Me” in aesthetically pleasing block print, heavy with black ink just under his chest, on his ribs. He was at the legal age to get a tattoo, but still, it didn’t lessen his parent’s fury at him when they found out. Nor did it save him the humiliation when his uncle, Sirius, had seen it when they were out at the beach.

“That’s gold, Harry.” Sirius guffawed. Never again would Harry let himself go that far in until he got a drunk tattoo.

Another occurrence when Harry regretted ever doing anything or just living in general was when he’d walked in his best mates, Ron and Hermione, going at it like wild rabbits. If catching your parents doing it in the middle of the day was horrible, then you’d understand what Harry was feeling. There was far too much exposed and far too little covered. And to make things worse, they were having sex on the bloody _couch._

The very same couch that Harry often sat, eating chips and talking to Seamus and Dean. The very couch that he slept on when the nights dragged on and he couldn’t be fucked to go upstairs to where he was supposed to sleep in his room over at the Weasley’s. The _very couch_ that Harry had spent his childhood on when his own parents were out.

And that image of sweaty heterosexual limbs needed to be _purged_ out of Harry’s brain. First of all, how _dare_ they do it on that couch. Second of all, _how dare they even did it in the living room of Mrs. Weasley’s house at all._

He’d accepted that sometimes Ron would be up to no good with Hermione in their room, but not in the living room! Not on that couch! Bleach and alcohol was required to completely sate Harry’s need to gouge his eyeballs out. That was most likely the first time he’d drunk to, well, get drunk.

But those were moments that he had buried deep in his head and would never want to revisit again. The tattoo stayed because, to be quite honest, even if the message was somewhat promiscuous and dumb, it was very aesthetic. And Harry liked things that were pleasing to the eyes.

Right now, he had an unhealthy fascination with female clothing.

He’d first noticed it when his mother went out with his father on their dinner date. Harry lived in a dorm on school days since it was nearer to campus, but during the summer breaks, Harry went back to his parents’ house because his father, James, was very clingy (though he did not admit it).

So, his mother was going out with his father and though his father looked nice with the tuxedo, his mother was even more dashing. She had a beige-sort of coloured dress that set off her red hair and the freckles around her bare shoulder. It wasn’t anything gross, it was just that Harry wanted the soft dress, embroidered with creamy pearls down the line of her back. The soft fabric clung to her skin and cut out curves for her.

“What colour is that dress?” Harry asked.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t his mother who answered, it was his father.

“I chose the colour, it’s called ‘Lily White’, smart, aren’t I?” James was proud of himself, more proud than he ought to be but he thought that his wife suited the dress so wholeheartedly and not to mention the name was ‘Lily White’. It was practically made for her!

“Yeah,” Harry said, lost in the beauty of the dress. “Yeah, you’re a genius dad. You look really good mum.”

He wondered what it would feel like if he was the one who wore it. Would it brush his legs every step he took? Would it mould against him like a second skin? Would it look as soft on him as it did on his mother?

“Thank you, Harry,” she said, ruffling his hair and dropping a russet kiss on his forehead. “But we’re going to be late if we don’t get going.”

“Let me take a picture of you guys before you go!” he insisted. “I’ll be going off in a few weeks, so I want to have something new to bring with me.”

“You heard him, Lily-pad.”

And that was the start of his newfound obsession with all things pretty and feminine.

Which was why, right now, he was strolling around Victoria’s Secret in Westfield. It was a little far from his campus (okay, a _lot_ far) but he had nothing on his plate as of the moment so might as well take a trip downtown in London. He had a driver’s license, a car and absolutely zero forces stopping him. Not even his own consciousness could stop him at this point.

It seems he had underestimated the kind of looks he was getting by going around and touching certain laces or silks. If you looked at it from this perspective; he was a nineteen year old man, looking around the lingerie offered at this store and picking out little nightgowns. Lots of girls giggled behind their hands and whispered to each other.

Harry wondered what they were talking about.

He looked at a satin and lace romper, black and would not, in any way, cover his privates. They’d just hang out. But they were so pretty, he loved the lace design and the silk and how it was cool to the touch. It was slightly see through and thin, but he had no qualms about it. It would be perfect in summer.

There was a long burgundy nightdress, sheer and it came with matching panties. These panties would not hold anything of Harry’s except for one ballsack and that’s all he was convinced it would hold. He wasn’t too beefy nor too tall, about 175 cm or so, not as tall as his father, but he blamed that from his mother’s short genes. Sizing the lingerie up against himself would be suspicious.

Stockings were something he had no clue about but wanted to buy. It was a good thing they were somewhat stretchy because he’d found a black one with a matching garter belt. It looked was beautiful, he couldn’t get past the hidden designs of the lace embedded into the cloth.

He looked around, a few girls shot him looks, and one of them smiled shyly at him. He smiled back because what the heck were you supposed to do in this scenario? Oh god, he did _not_ think this through. Taking all the lingeries and the stockings with him, he made a beeline for the cashier. He saw a few other males around the shop, but they had a girl with them. Was it strange that Harry came in a woman’s lingerie shop by himself?

The woman at the cashier had brown hair and tied back in a sleek ponytail. There wasn’t a single hair out of her head and it was so straight. Not a curl anywhere in sight. She wore too much black eyeshadow in his opinion and her lipstick was far too light to match her eyes, but it wasn’t his place to judge. He _was_ buying lingerie for himself.

Just putting the article of clothing on the register felt scary. His hands were clammy as he reached for his wallet.

“Hello, how are you today?”

“Fine,” his voice cracked. Damn it.

"Having a special night tonight?" the woman, Frankie her name tag said, smiled at him in that cheeky manner that he saw the other girls do. Had he been busted? Did Frankie know he was about to try on women’s lingerie in the peace of his dorm room?

"Oh, uh, not really."

"Is this for your girlfriend?"

"I don't have a girlfriend."

She looked at him weirdly, down at the black lace and up at him. Then she double checked the size and that was when Harry realised he should've just told her he did have a girlfriend. Because now, he could see it in her eyes that she was connecting the dots. Females were scary observant at most times and he regretted ever existing. Come to think of it, he's regretted a lot of things.

Frankie tallied up the price.

"Have fun," she said with a wink. And if Harry did not die then, he did when he sat in the seat of his car, contemplating a mass murder.

***

Harry went back inside his dorm, throwing his car keys somewhere on his study desk and quickly took off his jumper. He unbuckled his belt, zipping his jeans down and pulling them down. He needed to shower before he tried on his new collections. He’d never done this before and it felt like he was breaking the rules. It felt really, really good.

The warm water on his skin felt invigorating and the soap suds were cheering him on. _Be clean,_ they screamed, _you’ll want to be pure before you wear those clothes._ Of course, this was all in Harry’s head. He was way too excited than he had any right to be about two skimpy pieces of clothing but he got his excitable trait from his father.

Would he wear the black one first? Or the burgundy gown?

Stepping out of the shower with his towel wrapped around his waist, he went back to his room. The two pink striped boxes were side by side on his bed, each holding garments that Harry’s always wanted to wear. Maybe… maybe he could start using dresses soon. Those like his mother’s, the ones with pretty designs and shimmery fabric.

Harry took hold of the burgundy night dress. It looked much more safe than the romper. It was also much prettier, aesthetically pleasing to look at. The thin straps slid easily and hung lightly from his shoulders. It wasn’t overly short, the seam fell around the tops of his thighs. He was a little hesitant about putting on the small panties. They didn’t look as if they would be convenient.

But they were part of the set. They weren’t pretty or anything, they were just part of the costume. And Harry was a firm believer of finishing what he’d started, so he plucked the panties from his bed and inspected it. The colour was pretty, it’s not anything special. Bending over, he slipped on the panties.

Oh, they were nice against his skin. They weren’t itchy like he thought they’d be, but they felt muted, as if you had nothing on at all. And wasn’t that a weird feeling, to have something cover you but not feel it at all.

The colour looked right against the honey-hue of his skin and it made Harry flush. Weren’t lingeries something one wore to look sexy? Did he look good in this?

Harry took his laptop from his side table (he kept it there since he found out that he’d rather laze around on his bed and study than actually go sit at a table) and turned it on. There was a built in webcam in his laptop and he wanted to see what he looked like. Admittedly, he also wanted to take several pictures because one’s reflection can be deceiving.

He clicked on the photo booth icon, sitting on his bed with his legs crossed. But… that didn’t look right. Maybe one wasn’t supposed to sit with their legs crossed whilst in a lingerie? He straightened out his leg. Oh, that looked good. His legs looked as if they went on forever. He would need to shave off his leg hair though, it didn’t look very good with the burgundy stuff.

But he had stockings to help him with that.

Garter belts, in his opinion, were the most confusing contraption out of all the things he’d bought. So he stepped through and let it rest on his waist, but there were four dangly clips and he didn’t know what they were for.

“What in the world?” Harry mumbled to himself as he pulled on the black stockings. They kept on falling down and it frustrated him to no end. “What am I…?”

Then it clicked inside him. Ohh, he was supposed to use the clips to hold the stockings up, was that it? If it was then Harry should be deemed a genius, if it wasn’t, well… he tried. The stockings stayed upright, little bows where the clips were and he had never felt so _naughty_ in his whole life before. He sat with his legs below him, spreading his thighs and leaning on his arms.

The camera got it all, he looked _good_ and _sexy._ He sat up on his knees. There was a split on the front of his night dress, one where he could part and show his private cam session the slight definition on his stomach. He wasn’t really muscular or anything, but he did do enough football to get definition on his legs and stomach.

That brought him back to the stockings. Hours of running on the field had given his legs those amazing toned muscle and made the black made them look softer, but longer. As if his legs were like a model’s instead of an average nineteen-year-old. And he really liked that fact.

He sat back on his bum, letting his legs spread either side of his laptop. He hooked an arm around the back of one knee, letting the strap slide off from one shoulder. His position reminded him of some porno girl, posing for the camera and letting her eyes droop. He tried his eyes drooping. He looked surprisingly good and he hoped it wasn’t because he was just conceited. He put the timer on the camera and posed again.

His door opened.

“Potter, I’m borrowing your ca-”

_Snap._

Did Harry tell you that he had a dorm mate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Did I leave you thirsty? prolly not haha. Anyways, just dropping this off because I love you all and I am procrastinating. Are you interested in a second chapter? If not, maybe I'll cut it off here haha. Anyways, I know that I'm not the best writer but please be gentle and kind with me. I'm sensitive and I have not done a Tomarry in a while. Drop a Kudos or a comment [or both!] if you enjoyed. Thank you all!


	2. Distressed Harry Sounds

**Chapter Two - Distressed Harry Sounds**

 

“- car.”

Harry had a dorm mate. His name was Tom Riddle and he was a little older than Harry by a year and a few months. Riddle was one of those students that you could see no wrong in. He was diligent in his studied through you never actually  _ see _ him study. He seemed to excel in every one of his subjects and then some. Riddle was what you’d call a model student.

It didn’t help that Riddle was the typical type of beauty with chiseled features and was about five centimetres taller than him. And boy did Riddle love to point out the fact that he was taller and smarter. So really, Harry didn’t fawn over Riddle like he saw girls do because he generally knew what kind of self absorbed git he really was. It was hard to eat in the same table sometimes when they rarely meet each other. Riddle was  _ that _ obnoxious.

He didn’t respect Harry’s rule of ‘knock before you come in’ rule, which, for the record, was his  _ only _ rule. Riddle liked to borrow Harry’s car because he didn’t have one of his own, though he does have a license which was handy. Harry would generally be alright with Riddle barging in and borrowing his keys, but this was  _ not _ one of those moments.

Harry turned his head in horror and made direct eye contact with Riddle, just as the camera snapped a pic. Riddle had his hand still on the doorknob, his dark eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Harry was frozen in his uncomfortable pose in front of his laptop, legs wide open and a nipple showing. Heck, it didn’t even matter if his nipple showed - he was wearing  _ women’s lingerie. _

The first thing that came to Harry’s mind was: “Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Are you,” Riddle’s brows scrunched in confusion and no small amount of disbelief, “doing  _ camwork?” _

“What?”

“Potter, I thought your family was loaded!”

“No! It’s not what it looks like!”

“What  _ am _ I looking at?”

_ “Why are you still looking?” _ Harry yelled, his voice rising in distress. He didn’t let go of his leg. In fact, he might be stuck in that pose forever.

Riddle turned right back around and closed the door and Harry’s breath came in short gasps.  _ Oh my God, _ Harry panicked,  _ he saw me. He saw me! _ He looked back at his laptop screen and saw the shameful reflection of his own face in the cam. And the picture didn’t even turn out that good. What bollocks.

His leg lowered in humiliation and he dropped his head onto his hands, he felt the heat of his shame flow from his cheeks to his neck. How was he going to live now? He was seriously considering committing murder for the second time that day and Harry was usually pretty chill.  _ This, _ however, was  _ far _ from a chill situation. He might have to change his identity and move out of the country. Somebody had seen him and it wasn’t just anybody - it was Tom bloody Riddle.

He quickly opened his browser, hitting the x on his photobooth with purpose. He clicked on the search bar and typed;  _ How to kill your roommate. _ A little uncouth, sure, but Harry was desperate. If Riddle was dead and Harry went to jail, nobody would know what happened in Harry’s room. He would delete everything and smash the insides of his hard drive. He was  _ not _ chancing going to jail with people calling him a ‘ponce’ or a ‘nancy’ behind his back.

“Potter,” came a muffled voice from the other side of his door. “I think we need to talk.”

“There is  _ nothing _ to talk about!”

“I think there’s plenty.”

Harry continued searching the web, opening new tabs and skimming through countless of articles. He could get Riddle to commit suicide. But of course, it wouldn’t be Riddle who killed himself, it would be Harry killing Riddle and making it look like suicide. The motives weren’t there though, Riddle was far too much of an assertive bloke and loved life to the point where he dedicated a research paper about immortality.

He could get Riddle so drunk that it would be child’s play to suffocate him whilst he choke on his own vomit. But from what Harry knew, Riddle didn’t actually drink, he doesn’t condone the act. It would destroy his liver and, again, he would go on his tangent about health and lifestyle and prolonging his lifespan.

Harry started to hiccup and his fingers trembled. Oh boy, oh boy. Riddle had dirt on him now and it was bad dirt. It was dirt that Harry couldn’t just shake off. But it was also dirt that would be hard to believe because one, Harry did not look like the type of person who would put on sheer lace and silk and two, many people knew him. Harry was the type that people knew to be wholesome and kind. Not kinky and gross.

At least, that’s what Harry thought of himself.

He took his night dress, garter belt and stockings off, replacing his delicate garments for a pair of joggers and a black tee shirt. The burgundy of the material was a little crumpled and they felt so thin in his hands. Harry had made a mistake and the biggest regret of his whole life. He didn’t know that Riddle was still home, he thought he’d be out in the library like every other Saturday evening. Riddle had a schedule and Harry knew them because they’d lived together for almost two whole years.

He should’ve knocked on the door. He should install a door lock. He should never have tried on those clothings. He should never have even bought them in the first place. This was even  _ worse _ than getting caught with a tattoo. At least tattoos were acceptable, what would Riddle make of him now? He’d be so disgusted with Harry.

That’s it. Harry grabbed his keys and his phone. He rung up Fred and George. They were the twin boys of the Weasley family and very good at fucking Harry up. And right now, Harry wanted - no,  _ needed _ \- to get so smashed out of his head that he won’t have to come back to the dorm for at least one night and wash all his woes away.

Harry had one goal and that was to momentarily forget about everything just for a night and feel horrible in the morning. Maybe, he would come back with a new drunk tattoo to accompany his tasteful on on his rib.

Fred picked up on the third ring.

_ “Hey, what’s up?” _

“Hey, Fred! Wanna go out for a drink or two? I’m feeling in the mood to get drunk.”

_ “Oh, yeah? Well it’s a good thing George and I are going to go to town tonight. Meet up at nine?” _

“I’ll be there. Cheers mate.”

_ “No worries.” _

He quite literally stormed out of his room and across the living space. Riddle was sitting in their living space, right on the couch and Harry knew he was going to call him out, so Harry evaded until he got to the Uni car park.

His car lights lit up twice when he unlocked it, opening the door and slamming it harder than necessary. Harry actually didn’t get his license until very recently since he was a dumb twat who failed their drivers exam twice. How embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as what just happened. He put the keys a little too harshly inside of the ignition and pulled on his seatbelt whilst simultaneously dropping the gear onto Drive.

_ Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

That was his whole mantra as he drove.

He never stopped agonising over such a humiliating moment, not even when he was at the zebra crosses and there was an old lady crossing with the speed of a snail. It usually wouldn’t bother him because he was generally pretty patient when it came to the elderly or kids. But now it irritated him to no end because he couldn’t  _ stop thinking _ about bloody Tom Riddle and the fact that Harry posed in front of a webcam with a lingerie on.

“I hate my life,” Harry sighed as the lady got to the end of the crossing.

***

It was half past midnight, and Harry knew that he was pissed. He might be more than pissed, he was now worrying that he might actually damage his liver and destroy more brain cells than he can produce. And what was worse was the fact that he cannot stop  _ agonising _ over his latest humiliation. In front of his condescending, mocking, spiteful roommate! Not to mention the picture had turned out horrible.

Everything felt like a punch to his non-existent sense of body-positivity and he realised that lingerie might have made him feel a little bit better about being, well, himself. But bloody Riddle and his stupid questions.

_ Potter, _ the voice in his head said, voice nasally as he mocked Riddle’s words,  _ I think we need to talk. _

Well, Harry thought the fuck not. They had nothing to talk about, because after nearly two whole years of living with Riddle, he knew that talking really meant either chiding or making fun of him. And most of the time, Riddle liked to do both at once and Harry would sit on his arse with his head down feeling so utterly embarrassed and angry.

But right now, he was not only angry and disgraced, he was very tired. As in sleepy and so very, very reluctant to go back home.

“Lonely, sweetheart?” came a shouted call from over the thumping music.

A woman, she looked about thirty, came sliding up the bar. Her neon yellow tube top was riding dangerously low and showed far more cleavage than Harry had ever seen in his nineteen years of life. Her skin was fake tanned to the point where it was bordering on orange and she had very light lipstick smothered layers upon layers on her lips. This was very early 2000’s style and Harry was surprised that he’d find a woman like her around here.

You don’t see much of her type around these times, now women were more elegant with their makeup. They tended to have the same makeup style as others, but he particularly like the trend that the French had been doing and that was when they had their bare face and a red lip on. Maybe Harry had a thing for the colour red.

This woman’s lips, however, were the furthest from red and he could practically  _ feel _ his own pores suffocating underneath all that heavy cream on her face.

“Uh, no. I’ve got my drink to keep me company.”

She grinned, her thick false lashes batting away. “Just for one night. No strings attached.”

“Well, you see… I’m flattered that you’re interested, really, but I’m kind of in the middle of an ongoing crisis?”

“You can forget  _ all that,” _ she sang, trailing a particularly sharp looking nail down Harry’s shirt. “I can erase your worries.”

“You’re obviously drunk,” Harry stated. “You can’t give consent.” And technically neither can he because he was extremely pissed and the strobing purple lights were an inch away to murdering his already poor eyesight on the spot.

She pushed herself onto him, bosom hanging out and squishing against his arm. “Come on, love.”

“I… I have to go now. I can direct you to some other guys who’d be partial to your nightly activities! Um, they’re just down that end. Orange hair, twins and really good-looking blokes. Maybe you can have both of them if you’re successful.”

The woman flipped her hair and huffed. “Fine.”

One thing about a drunk Harry was that he becomes worse at lying but gained the ability to form and string coherent words than if he was sober and doing a presentation to his class. Really, he should come to class drunk one day just for the benefit of becoming more eloquent.

Slowly, he slid from his barstool and went towards the exit. 

He fumbled with the keys in his pocket, squinting at the car park and shivering. He should’ve brought a jacket or a jumper instead of this flimsy tee. But he didn’t spot the silver jeep that was once his father’s. He pressed on the unlocked button and found out that the car’d been in front of him this whole time.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured.

If he was this pissed, how was he supposed to get home without killing himself or others? He wasn’t risking it. Driving home with this buzzing sensation was not a good sign and he had to constantly blink and squint to readjust his eyes.

He walked very slowly towards his car, taking a calculated step so he wouldn’t stumble on a pebble or, even more stupid, tripping over nothing and end up with scratched elbows on the gravel. He opened the door to his car, sat himself behind the wheel and tried many times to put the keys into ignition. But he kept on scratching the sides of the steering wheel instead of actually doing anything. It was equally as cold, if not less, in the car.

Shivering, he took out his phone and went down to his emergency calls list. He’d have to swallow his pride, or whatever tatters he has now, to call the one person he  _ really _ did not want to talk to.

_ Calling Devil Incarnate _

He picked up on the second ring.

_ “Yes?” _

“Hey Riddle. I’m drunk.”

_ “How surprising. Would you like me to give you a congratulatory card?” _

“No.”

Then there was silence in which none of them talked. They were both just breathing at their phones and Harry’s eyelids grew heavy.

“I’m drunk.”

_ “So you have said.” _

“No, I mean. I’m in need of some assistance. I don’t know if you know, but drunk driving happens to be one of the biggest killers in young adults. Not to mention, I could be harming others.”

A sigh.  _ “You want me to come pick you up.” _

“Please.”

_ “You understand I hate it when you do this.” _

“Please?”

_ “It’s nearly fucking one in the morning. How do you think I’ll get down to where you are?” _

“I’m just around town, remember when you dropped me off at the restaurant with the big lobster sign? Well, it’s the club just down the road. Please come. I can’t even turn on the engine and it’s so cold, Tommy. So cold.” that might’ve been a little over-the-top for Harry.

Another long, weary sigh.  _ “You owe me, Potter.” _

“I always repay what I owe, right?”

_ “Fine. Slide over to the passenger side, I might not arrive in another hour or so.” _

“Thank you.”

_ “Shut the fuck up.” _

Harry didn’t even get to say a second thanks before Riddle hung up on him. He moved over to the passenger side, keys in back in his pocket and arms crossed. He shivered once, regretting his life choices. His blood may feel warm and fuzzy, but his skin was positively frozen over. He wasn’t aware that winter had decided to pop its ugly head around. Harry was never partial to the cold, he prefer heat.

And with sunshine in his mind, he fell asleep.

***

He heard the hum of an engine, felt the slight rocking and occasional jostle to his body and a particularly harsh friction rubbing at his neck. His neck which felt like the bones had decided to set that way. Harry opened his eyes, feeling the artificial warmth of one of man’s most brilliant invention - the heater.

The stereo was on, a slow classical piece playing like a lullaby.

Harry tried blink to the grogginess away, head still fuzzy and eyes unfocused. He turned his head, kneading the creak in his neck and arching his back to stretch. His mouth tasted a little foul, his breath probably stunk like hell and the friction at his neck felt really irritating.

“Awake, are we?”

Harry let his head flopped to the side, eyes blurring and focusing slowly on the figure on his wheel. Fortunately, or was it unfortunately, Harry could make out Riddle’s perfectly coiffed hair and the profile to his face. Riddle was all about impeccable sharp lines and angles, no soft edges. And damn it, if Harry wasn’t so completely sure he was straight, he would’ve fallen for his senior. It didn’t help that Riddle actually looked out for Harry sometimes. Made him feel weird.

He made a croaking sound with his throat before giving up. Riddle’s smart, he could figure it out.

“Brush your teeth, drink water and wash your face before you crash,” he said, brushing a strand of hair away from Harry’s eyes. “And don’t forget to change into your pyjamas, or at least use other clothing. Dear heavens knows what’s on your soiled shirt.”

“Mhm.”

“I have a question to ask you, Potter. Do you sleep in those… lacy night dresses? Or was this a one-off thing?” But one look from beside him had proved that Harry was asleep. He exposed a long column of throat to Riddle, unknowingly of course. But it sent a hot, twisted feeling in his senior’s stomach. It felt a little too close to sexual arousal and Tom Riddle was internally screaming because he did  _ not _ feel anything for his little shit of a roommate. That’s impossible and ridiculous.

But Harry in that burgundy dress… Harry wearing those black stockings with them garter belts… 

_ Stop it. Get a hold of yourself. You’re merely stressed. There’s a project due next week and the group’s been fucking useless. _

And thus, neither Harry nor Tom realised how incredibly gay they were for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is up!
> 
> I got some really good feedback from y'all. I'm really sorry I cut it off at that cliffhanger. I hope this would be enough content. I have a test week coming up and another one in week 8 (I am currently in week 4, nearing week 5). Week 6 is when all my assignments are due so please be patient. Leave a [kudos] or a [comment] if you liked it! Send me asks over on my tumblr! or just scroll through my blog for some A1 textposts (contains both drarry and tomarry, so if you're only looking for tomarry, click on the tomarry tag). 
> 
> I want to say thank you to all, I really didn't think people were interested enough. Bye guys!


	3. Gay? In my me? It's more likely than you think.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Cybrid

**Chapter Three -  Gay? In my me? It's more likely than you think.  
**

 

Tom was having the largest crisis of his life. Harry had completely blacked out and if it weren’t for the subtle rise and fall of his chest, he would’ve thought Harry to be dead. He was too still. Tom had never encountered a drunk Harry this still before.

And God, wasn’t Harry bloody heavy as.

Despite his relatively lithe frame, Tom knew that he was all muscle and no fat. Potter might be a little on the thin side, but those were all wiry muscles. Not a sight of fat anywhere. It made the task of carrying his unconscious junior much harder and Tom hated it when Harry did this tripe. He hated it so much.

Ubers were a thing, why didn’t he call one of them and get his car in the morning or something? That bar had a twelve-hour parking limit since eight in the evening during weekends, Harry would’ve had plenty of time. And why did he always call Tom when he had other, much closer friends to help him. Hermione Granger seemed like the kind of mother hen friend who’d talk your ears off and bring you back from parties safe.

What made him more irritated was the fact that never, not once, did he refuse to pick Harry up. Tom’s head snapped up as he dawned on a horrifying thought  and he lost grip on Harry, sending the poor, unconscious boy barreling down a flight of stairs. Was he…  _ whipped? _ No, no it couldn’t be. Not by Harry. The boy was only nineteen and an incredibly obtuse one at that.

Tom, on the other hand, was twenty and a very smart adult, nearing his twenty-first birthday.

Then he realised that said boy had his arm twisted at an odd angle and the fact that he did not wake concerned Tom to the point where he was worried he’d accidentally murdered his own roommate. Well, good heavens if he rid of the Potter boy once and for all, but this was  _ not _ the way to get rid of annoying people. Christ, he could get thrown in jail.

Why was it that every time he was involved with bloody Harry Potter, the kid’s got to be such trouble. First it was the lingerie, which confused the heck out of him and then it was the getting drunk every time some minor inconvenience happened, or when Harry had to kick a very insistent girl out of their dorm and left her with Tom. She was pretty in the conventional sense and Tom would  _ not _ have his Saturday study schedule messed up so he kicked her out much more efficiently than Harry, who got a slap to the face.

Tom went down the stairs to where a very still Potter laid limp. He didn’t kill the stupid child, did he? Tom prayed to any God out there that he was only passed out and not dead. A broken arm was better than a dead body.

Harry better not be fucking dead. Tom would be extremely pissed if he was. Just who did the twink think he was, dying just because Tom dropped their unconscious bodies down a stairwell which was most likely extremely dangerous and not to mention the unconscious person was extremely drunk?

He crouched down, smelt the sweet smell of Harry’s strawberry shampoo along with the unpleasant mix of what he’d guess to be vodka, and checked his pulse. The fucker was still breathing. He was alright, just a minor bump along their way.

Potter’s bare arms were covered in goosebumps. It was better if they got inside quickly, he knew Harry had a pretty weak immune system and he would most likely be sick the next day (or, more accurately, today since it was nearing two in the morning) and even though Harry was terrible when he was sick, he just did not stop going from training or from his various other classes. Tom would take care of himself when he was sick and let himself take less work in until he was better but Harry was an idiot of a junior.

_ Fucking hell,  _ Tom half sighed and half groaned as he hauled Harry back onto his shoulder. Tom wasn’t a particularly strong person, not when it came to carrying deceiving skinny boys who was actually packed with muscles and about a gazillion kilograms heavy. 

“Wake up, Potter,” Tom tapped the side of the other’s temple. “Wake up, you’re bloody heavy.”

And of course, like a good boy, Harry did not wake up. At all. Even though Tom’s just dropped him from the top of the stairs and he was so sure that Potter would wake up with bruises. His arm still dangled kind of weirdly but it wasn’t broken. He would know. He’d seen plenty of broken arms from his younger years.

“Useless piece of…” Tom muttered under his breath rather aggressively, lugging a good as dead weight as he trudged on to where his dorm was. There was an elevator, but they were locked and shut down between midnight to six in the morning. There were security reasons for that, and Tom appreciated the measures to keeping dorm students safe, but it was incredibly inconvenient everytime he had to pick Harry bloody Potter up.

He wondered if he could get Harry to use the lacy red gown again for repayment. Maybe Tom will buy other lacy red gowns just purely out of spite and make Harry walk around in them. But only in front of himself, of course, he didn’t want to be mean to Harry. Oh, those stockings were pretty good too. He bet Harry would be  _ humiliated _ and Tom got the benefit of seeing Harry in stockings. But only because Harry was being humiliated. Not because Tom was in any way attracted to Harry.

A dorm door opened. Tom barely interacted with anyone except for his own roommate, so he didn’t know who resided in dorm 313. But it was clear from the dishevelled appearance of the girl with dull brown hair and the man at the doorway with only his boxers on (and in this bloody cold morning, were they fucking idiots?) that they had a shag.

It was against the rules to bring a girl to the boy’s dorm after hours. It was also against the rules to go out after curfew but that didn’t stop Tom from picking Harry up. Loud music thudded through the thin walls and Tom was momentarily sorry for whoever had to room with that man. They had the cliche straight feel about them. If he was correct, they probably thought that they were the best shag anybody could ever land when in reality, they were  _ far _ too vanilla.

Imagine having sex with Harry, though. He  _ saw _ the way that red lingerie looked against his honey skin. Harry didn’t look like a vanilla type of man. Not that Tom really thought about it.

“You are one mighty arse, Adam!” and before the guy, Adam, could say anything, Tom heard the satisfying crack of meaty flesh against someone’s face. “I hope your dick shrivels up. It’s not like it was that big to begin with.”

“Now, you listen here, you slut -”

Tom rounded the corner with a very limp body. He was dressed in all black and to them, he probably looked like a murderer considering Harry was completely still. It didn’t help that Tom had that kind of face that screamed “Handsome Psycho, would Murder you, 10/10”.

Neither moved any closer to him, so Tom disregarded them. They weren’t of any use, might as well go back to his dorm. It was nearing half-past two and he was unbelievably tired. Not just physically tired from lugging this body around, but also mentally. He’d been rudely woken up by the harsh ring of his phone. He had a seperate ringtone for Harry because it was easier to identify and ignore. Too bad that Tom doesn’t ignore those rings very often.

“Did you know you could’ve gotten in trouble by being out so late?” Adam said as Tom dragged Harry’s heavy body. Christ, he was not suited for heavy duty stuff when he was so tired. Thank goodness his class had been flexed. “You’re breaking curfew rules.”

He tilted his head back and hugged Harry’s body close to his. Adam was a mighty fine idiot.

“Did you know that we’re not supposed to bring girls after hours?” Tom retorted, voice colder than the outside temperature. Oh, it was easier to carry Harry than it was to drag him. Of course it was, Tom, the weight would’ve been more distributed and he would be using his whole strength as opposed to just using his arms to carry the boy.

“I’m the Dorm Manager.”

“And she’s also out after curfew hours,” Tom jerked his head towards the girl. “Fuck off, Adam.”

“ _ Excuse me?” _

Tom needn’t bother to repeat himself. He said it curtly and precisely. He wanted Adam to know that being dorm manager really didn't mean jack shit to him since Tom could easily take over his place. He was smart, diligent and did his dirty work subtly. How did you think he was able to pick Harry up multiple times without actually getting caught.

He swept Harry’s knees onto his arms and carried him bridal style. Jesus today had been a very long day and he didn’t need Adam’s pointless spew about bloody rules. Tom knew them front to back.

“You better watch out, ya bastard.” Adam threatened. Tom could imagine him seething at being regarded so rudely, but what did it matter?

He promptly ignored the arrogant dorm manager and carried Harry with more ease, but his arms were soon dying. Would he need to build up his strength if he ever needed to carry Harry around more? He never had Harry actually pass out this badly before, usually the stupid idiot would rant and ramble whilst being extremely inebriated, but he never had Harry so dead.

Girls weren’t this heavy. He didn’t remember that one girl - what was her name, Lucy? - being this heavy even though she had the same frame as Harry. Lucy was gagging for it and Tom was available, so he indulged her. It had been so easy to pick her up. But then again, she was a girl who didn’t work out so intensely as Harry. Her legs had been too skinny for his liking, it wouldn’t look as good in black stockings.

Harry’s legs were muscled and, though still slender. He groped Harry’s legs through the grey joggers, feeling it up. Tom wondered if he could have his face crushed between them. Just hypothetically, of course. Tom didn’t  _ actually _ want to feel Harry’s legs in those stockings, or lick and bite the insides of Harry’s thighs. It was just all a hypothetical scenario in his head.

Lucy had also been really vanilla as well. Tom wasn’t someone he thought to be particularly kinky. Well, maybe he had a thing for legs since he liked to see Harry’s legs so much. No, he never had the urge to fuck a leg before, so Tom wasn’t someone kinky. 

He took out the card from Harry’s pocket since it was closer to his hands and tapped it against the scanner. He liked cards more than locks since you could duplicate those and lock pick quite easily. He didn’t like feeling uncertain and thinking that his things and living space would be intruded by some random stranger from other dorms. Harry’s friends were the exception. They were sensible enough (except for those dastardly twins).

Twisting the doorknob to Harry’s room, he accidentally banged the poor boy’s head against the doorway.  _ Oops. _ He’d have to apologise later in the morning, Harry had been battered and bruised enough already from that fall from the stairs.

Just as he approached the bed and laid Harry’s prone body amongst the white sheets, he spotted the stripy pink bag. To snoop, or not to snoop? Why was it even a question in his head? Of course he was going to snoop, there was nobody here who could stop him and he had a broken moral compass. He reached over Harry’s dead body and plucked the black ribbon handles. In elegant black capitals, the words ‘Victoria’s Secret’ was printed across the middle.

Tentatively, he reached inside the bag and was startled. Black silk met his hands and it was so cool to the touch. He held it up, showing a really short sort of romper that had a plunging back and virtually nothing to cover the front. He eyed Harry’s body.

“Potter,” he said. No response. Good.

Maybe what he was doing was wrong. Actually, he was very sure that it was wrong, but who was going to stop him? He took the rest of the garments out. The red lacy one - well, now that he looked closer it was actually burgundy - was the one that he saw Harry put on.

_ Is this gay? _ He found himself asking.  _ It’s not gay if it’s just curiosity, right? No, it couldn’t be. This is for research purposes. _

Then. with great care, he took the garter belt and stockings. He knew what they were, he’d seen enough underwear advertisements to know what they were and how they worked. Slowly, he lifted Harry’s shirt up, exposing his toned stomach to the cold air. The belt was not too thin, not too thick. It was smooth and had little lace patterns against the black. You wouldn’t see them from far away, but now that he was so close, he could appreciate why Harry had chosen this one.

There were three hooks at the back. He unclasped them all and, for reasons he couldn’t explain, his hands started to shake. There were matching burgundy panties that he saw Potter use, but would he really be able to change the boy? If it came down to it, then he would.

He shouldn’t, he felt as if putting it on Harry was wrong but not because this was without his consent and he was blacked out drunk, but also because Tom’s heart had picked up a new pace and going at the speed of light. But maybe that was the adrenaline because he certainly did not want to get caught. Yeah, that was it. The adrenaline.

_ But imagine if Harry woke right now. _

Nope. He didn’t want to have life-changing realisations about his kinks right now.

Sliding the black material over Harry’s waist, Tom hooked the back. It fit perfectly, accentuating the perfect curve of Harry’s hard waist. Had Potter been so slim like this? The grey sweats that Harry had on didn’t match with the garter and he wanted to see more. Tom hooked a finger in the waistband. Should he really do this?

Before he could really think, he pulled the clothing down and off, leaving Harry in just skin tight briefs. Tom held his breath. Briefs didn’t look as good, but it was appealing enough. He held the stockings loosely in his hands and turned Harry on his back again.

Harry really had nice legs. They looked so long and so very strong, yet all slender and shapely. And he remembered how much more attractive his legs looked with the stockings on. As gentle as he could be, Tom slipped the smooth black stockings on, seeing the way Harry’s legs had stretched the thin fabric and shaped them. Oh good Lord. This was… this was…

He took a deep breath and gulped.

This was not healthy for him. In no way was this healthy for his heart. Potter should be locked up because for one, he was making Tom  _ feel _ things and two, those legs were downright illegal. With the tips of his fingertips, he brushed Harry’s legs, feeling the garment stretched taut over hard muscle. He was right. It was illegal.

Harry laid prone and Tom decided he wasn’t going to risk anymore, so he stripped Harry of the stockings and his shirt. That way, Potter would’ve thought that Tom was just undressing him of all his whiskey smelling clothing and not at all meddling with his legs and stockings. Oh, Tom knew what he wanted alright. It was just a matter of justifying his wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to keep y'all waiting T-T. I have my schedule packed for the next 4 weeks until my Exam week. And I am incredibly sorry if my writing is not up to standard or anything, I promise the next chapter will be better. I'm just really sorry but I can't update as quick whilst answering all my tumblr asks with drawings so if I accidentally skip over your ask for several days, please just keep in mind that I'm just extremely busy and have no time. I am so very sorry. 
> 
> Leave a [kudos] and a [comment] if you liked this and please suggest some lingerie attire that Harry might wear next ;)


	4. Don't Touch Me

**Chapter Four - Don’t Touch Me**

 

“Wow, Harry, you look awful mate.”

That was the first greeting he’d ever gotten this afternoon. It had started to rain heavily, grey clouds obscuring the sun (not that it popped up very often) and a gloomy atmosphere. It wasn’t the best day but the rain soothed Harry. Actually, no it didn’t, but he figured a sunny day would hamper him down even more with the splitting headache he had and his injured body. He didn’t quite know how he had a bruise running up his ribs nor the sprain on his wrist, but he suspected it was an accident.

Hermione gave him a hot cup of tea across the table, her brows knitted in worry, but there was the telltale signs of her disapproving his behaviour. She tutted, shook her head and her mouth twisted that little bit.

Ron, on the other hand, was grinning from ear to ear. Harry took it as his friend’s way of showing his concern, but at the same time it was the most smug and shit-eating grin that Harry felt irrationally irked. He sat down on the seat opposite them, wrapping his hands around the cup and felt it instantly burn his palms. But he quite liked the burn.

“Harry, just because it’s the weekend doesn’t mean you can trash yourself like this.” There we go, the infamous Hermione Granger lecture. She meant well, Harry knew that, but maybe if she could scold him after he finished being miserable?

“I had a perfectly good reason to drink.”

“You  _ always _ have a reason to drink,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m worried that you’ll become a real alcoholic soon. What would your parents think?”

“Harry doesn’t drink that often, ‘Mione,” Ron pat his head softly, which still earned a whine from Harry. “But this  _ is _ the first time you drank without me.”

Harry let out a long, suffering sigh. “I made a mistake last night and I called your brothers.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific. You make lots of mistakes.”

“Okay, first of all,” he defended. “Piss off. I make minor accidents that don’t even count as mistakes. This one was major and most likely quite detrimental to my mental health.”

“But I’m not wrong, this isn’t a first. You make a lot of… not accidents.” Ron finished. “What? Accidentally insulted a girl when you were at it again? Saw something unsavory? Did you walk in on Riddle?”

Harry stiffened. It was close. Too close. He buried his face deep into his hands, ignoring the uncomfortable stirring in his stomach and the heat that surfaced. Ron almost nailed it. Riddle really did see him, didn’t he? Harry got out of the dorm before he had to confront him. He knew that sooner or later, Riddle will bring it up, but it didn’t mean that Harry won’t stall for as long as he could.

“Ah, I know, Riddle walked in on you.”

He sunk down even lower in his seat, his head on the table and his arms crowding him. His shoulders hurt a little too much to be normal from just hunching, which concerned him but not as much as the thought of the night before. Then he heard an excited gasp and an exasperated sigh.

“You and Riddle are roommates, it’s bound to happen soon.” Hermione said. “I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. You said that he doesn’t knock before going into your room?”

“So I’m right? I’m right, aren’t I?” Harry could imagine Ron bouncing in his seat. “What? Were you taking a big one when he hopped in on you? Were you showering?”

“You’re so childish,” he mumbled from his shame huddle.

“But am I right?”

“It can’t be  _ that _ mortifying, nor embarrassing. I’ve seen Hannah naked on multiple occasions.” Hermione continued. “Oh, come off it. It’s just nature, I bet you’ve been around a lot of men who were equally in a vulnerable state as you were Harry. You do sports! You have locker rooms!”

But it wasn’t just a quick peek at his ‘vulnerable’ state. Hermione didn’t understand. Harry was in a very compromising situation where humiliating women’s clothing were involved, a webcam and a stupid, stupid boy who thought he could just wear those kind of shit freely and not be copped out. Riddle had seen everything and now he knew. He knew that Harry was a weird motherfucker.

“We’re men, Hermione.” Ron said, as if that explained everything.

“So?”

“It’s not that,” Harry said, trying to dispel whatever thought was brewing behind Ron’s eyes. “I was just in the middle of changing and he came in without knocking. Obviously, he should’ve but the giant poop doesn’t listen to my only one request and this happens.” He rubbed his shoulder, pressing down on a spot but releasing it quickly after he felt sharp muscle pain around the socket. He must’ve slept wrong.

“Bah, it’s all the same. It’s really not big of a deal,” Hermione waved her hand.

_ It is when you were in lingerie and posing for the camera, _ Harry thought. He wanted to argue and not seem as silly because Hermione did raise some good points, but it would mean that Ron and Hermione find out about his little…  _ fascination _ and he was not ready for that. In fact, he might not ever be ready for that. 

“Alright, let’s get a move on,” Ron said out of nowhere. “As much as it was fun seeing Harry be miserable, we’ve got plans and I don’t want to waste today before I have to go back to Binn’s dreadfully boring class.”

“Oh yes, let’s.”

At least both Ron and Hermione knew how to drop a topic. They were great friends, the bestest anyone could ask for. He was glad he met them first. The saddest thing for Harry was not the fact that now Riddle will ridicule him. It was that he knew that he might never get to wear another piece of pretty clothing ever again in at least 5 years.

***

Riddle sat in the kitchen, holding a cup of tea on one hand and a pencil in the other. There was a folder next to him, complete with sorted printouts of his work and a workbook in front of him, with neat handwriting in it. There was also a thick textbook that looked like it had been made specifically to torture law students, but Harry wouldn’t know.

Riddle put his cup down, leaning back on his chair and staring at Harry.

“You’re back.”

“Of course I’m back, I live here.”

“Where were you?”

Riddle had never once shown concern for what he did in the daytime. In fact, Harry had never seen Riddle come out of his room to study. He always either kept it in the library or within his own living quarters. He only came out when Harry bought something to eat or if he made tea. Riddle  _ definitely _ did not make his own tea. Which had the whole set up making him anxious and suspicious.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Harry said, taking off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair. It was almost six in the evening which made him depressed because he was supposed to be doing his assignment, but of course he neglected his duties. What a procrastinator.

Suddenly, Riddle was right in front of him.

“This has  _ everything _ to do with my business. You owe me, Potter. You haven’t paid back yet.” He hissed, stalking forwards until they were uncomfortably close, the small Harry’s back touched the dining table. “I know what I want.”

It was even more unusual that Riddle knew what he wanted straight away. He usually kept it in a ‘Debt Bank’ where he takes them out at certain times where Harry’s help might be useful. But if he knew what he wanted straight away, then perhaps Riddle’s been in a pickle and was grateful to have one in the bank now.

“Name your price.” Harry tilted his head, staring straight into dark eyes. “But remember, I can’t give you access to my dad’s work stuff, or my mum’s. I’m not getting you morphine or anybody’s personal information.”

Riddle smirked. “Don’t worry, that’s not what I want.” He put his hands on either side of Harry, trapping him against the table and said; 

“Strip.”

The pure, undulated horror that washed over him was like a tsunami. Riddle wanted him to strip. There was a hungry look in his eyes that should  _ not _ be present when talking to your male junior, but it was there. And gosh, Harry might just shit in his pants because his face was burning, his heart quickened and his hands trembled. He was so bloody scared.

“W-what?” Harry hated that his voice was so breathy. That he didn’t think Riddle would be homosexual. He also didn’t think that Riddle would have this much effect on him because Harry felt as if he was about to faint. And that it might have something to do with how close Riddle was.

“You heard me. I said strip.”

“Why?”

“You owe me.”

And for the first time in his life, Harry finally understood.  _ Oh God, _ Harry quivered.  _ He’s going to fuck me! _

“I want you to wear those stockings.” Riddle said, his nose so close to Harry’s that all it took was to lean a centimetre too far and they would touch. “And I want you to wear the lingerie too.”

“Are you sick?” Harry demanded, his voice hoarse.

“Not as sick as you,” he teased. “Come now, Potter. It’s only a little show. Nobody’s getting hurt.”

“My mental wellbeing is in danger here!”

“Little payment for what I’ve done for you. Come on Potter. It’s just a little thing you need to do in exchange for calling me up at one in the morning when you well know I have classes today. Do you know how tired I was the whole day?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t connect to… to me doing  _ this _ for you!” Harry said, his voice steadily rising to a hysteric shout. “I’m not going to… I’m not going to be- I won’t let you fuck me for a minor call!”

It was Riddle’s turn to sputter. He leaned back, untrapping Harry and his face twisted. “I’m not going to, to f-fuck you! I just, I just want to see the lingerie!”

“Why?”

“‘Cause it’ll be funny!” Riddle said, as if that was the point all along and that he didn’t make his offer sound wrong and confusing. But then the words registered in Harry’s brain and he started to feel hurt.  _ Funny? Funny-looking? _ He fisted his hands, determination set into the lines of his face.

Harry ought to make Riddle squirm.

_ “Fine,” _ he spat. “You will stay here and I’ll. I’ll get ready.”

“You’re doing it?”

With what little seductive prowess he had, Harry stalked forward. He intended to back Riddle into a corner, but he stood his ground like a stone. “Of course, Tommy-dearest.” Harry purred, getting real close. He tried to recall what Jessica (his first sexual partner who was, dare he say, very experienced) had done. Harry trailed his hand up Riddle’s shirt, but never touching his body, only the clothing.

Riddle gulped and Harry had to suppress a smug smirk. The (totally uncalled for) flush was on his cheeks, he couldn’t control those though. With more flare than usual, Harry stepped back, put his hands into the pocket of his jeans and went off to his room.

That was when Harry had a mental breakdown because, though he wanted to prove something to Riddle, he was also digging a grave for himself. What in the  _ hell _ was Harry doing? He stripped himself off of his shirt, casting it aside into the white hamper next to his wardrobe, taking out the pink bag from the side of his bed.

He took the black stockings, the red lace and took off his jeans. The motions of slipping into the stockings made him feel giddy inside, he loved the feel of it. It was like using a sort of shield, another person’s persona, totally letting go of awkward Harry and changing into some sly and snarky man who hid in the dim light of candles and bathed in their dead husband’s money. It wasn’t anything he’d ever experienced before.

Harry hooked the garter around his waist, making sure it sat properly and clipped it to the stockings. The burgundy sheer nightdress settled around him, stopping at the highest tops of his thighs. Harry noticed the bruise on the side of his ribs, but beggars can’t be choosers and Riddle would just have to deal with that. 

“Um, Riddle?”

Riddle turned around. His mouth widened into a feral grin and his eyes were far too sharp. This was it, Harry was about to be ridiculed. He leaned against the doorway, his hands fiddling with the hem of his nightdress, chewing his lips and looking anywhere but the man in front of him. His cheeks started to flush brighter, spreading down to his neck and shoulders. 

“Give us a twirl, then.” Riddle said, the smirk placed on his lips. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Harry decided he didn’t like how smug Riddle was looking. This was supposed to be  _ Harry’s _ revenge. He was supposed to prove to Riddle how utterly devastating Harry looked in lingerie and that it wasn’t funny - no, quite the opposite. He wanted to be a force that would shut Riddle up once and for all. Yeah, his stomach was up in knots, but Harry used it as fuel. Fuel to go through with his plan.

He closed the distance between him and Riddle, pushing the older man down onto a chair. Riddle looked surprised, his eyes flicking down to Harry’s hand and his eyebrows lost their cocky tilt, replaced by amusement. Harry wouldn’t have that. He grabbed Riddle’s chin and forced him to look up at Harry.

“See something funny?”

Riddle looked puzzlingly at Harry’s eyes, as if he were trying to solve a particularly hard puzzle. Then, his hands shot out and grabbed Harry’s waist, riding underneath the cloth and trailing it down past his backside to his thighs. It made Harry gasp but he also pieced it together. 

By the way that he gripped Harry’s legs through his stockings, the obsessive way that Riddle felt up his legs wrapped in the stockings wasn’t something he had ever encountered before. There was hunger in those dark eyes - and lust. Ah, so Riddle was into the stockings, was he? Well, he can’t have it.

“No,” Harry slapped his hands away. “You can look, but you can’t touch.”

“Potter -” Riddle’s hand reached out to stroke his legs, but Harry stepped out of his reach. 

“No.”

Riddle looked at him with a scowl, his eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into a half grimace, half pout. It satisfied something odd in Harry. He found himself to not minding the fact that he was probably making a fool out of himself, dressed in sheer stuff and prancing around. In fact, it might be the lingerie giving him this confidence, though it was a stupid thought.

Harry lifted his leg, prodding the ball of his foot against Riddle’s crotch. He felt it stir.

“This is what you wanted?” Harry murmured, kneading his foot. “This is what you wanted, right?”

Riddle gasped, his hand shooting out to grab his ankle. And for one wild second, Harry was worried Riddle might pull on his ankle, which would cause him to fall. But no, he just held Harry’s ankle and kept his foot on his crotch. Harry flexed his foot. Riddle hissed, his other hand brushing the back of his calf, bending forwards.

Harry’s breath quickened as did his heart. “Do you  _ like _ this?”

He didn’t get a verbal answer, but lips were on his shins. He took that as a yes and began to knead through the growing hardness that Riddle wore. He exhaled heavily against Harry’s leg, taking in sharp inhales and his hand wandered further up, touching his thighs.

Harry took his foot down, breaking off the loose grip Riddle had them in. His head snapped up, there were signs of sweat at his forehead.

Before Riddle could protest, Harry reached out to unbutton the buttons of the other’s trousers. Riddle stood up abruptly, disrupting Harry’s efforts, unzipping his zip and took Harry by the hand, leading him to the couch. He was laid there, Riddle controlling his every move and covering Harry with his own body.

His erection touched Harry’s leg; it was hot and heavy, smearing clear slick on the soft black material of his stocking. There was disappointment at the back of his mind because  _ ‘aw, this is my favourite stockings’, _ but that was overrode by the fact that Riddle was gasping into his ear, hot breaths fanning against his neck and rutting mindlessly into Harry’s leg, his hands exploring touching every part of him, stopping at his thighs and his nails sunk themselves into Harry’s thighs.

He would never admit it, but Harry loved the way Riddle touched him.

Harry was also too shocked to actually process anything properly. He grabbed the tops of Riddle’s arms, holding onto them as Riddle thrusted once, twice, three times against his leg and came all over the material. Again, the disappointment was there. But Riddle laid there, above Harry and panting heavily. That was when Harry decided to taunt Riddle because coming out here with what he thought to be his deepest shame, and being  _ ridiculed _ for it had really got to him. 

“And you dare call  _ me _ sick? For wearing clothes? Look at yourself, Riddle. You got off of my leg.” Harry whispered in Riddle’s ear. He saw Riddle’s eyes snap open. Harry pushed the other off of him, and left Riddle to sort out his own mess. He very pointedly ignored the hard-on he sported himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also for my dear friend Cybrid. I hope it is good enough.
> 
> So! Did you guys like that? I wasn't sure how to proceed with smut so please be gentle with me, but I like the thought of Harry gaining confidence and control when he wears his lingerie also for Tom to lose his control and start to covet Harry. I'm sorry this took so long, I thought I should update before I forgot this fic because I have exams! yay! Stress really got to me and I decided to take it off by writing this. I'm sorry if it's not very good, I tried but I will try to improve. Please bear with me. It took a turn at the end there, I was going to end it with awkward fluff but it ended up being pretty angsty serious stuff. Well, those are just my bb bois. Just to clear things up, Tom has a fetish for legs. Am I projecting? Maybe, but you can't judge me if y'all are reading tomarry smut. Only Satan can judge me.
> 
> Leave a [Kudos] and a [Comment] if you enjoyed!


	5. Platonic Boners

**Chapter Five - Platonic Boners**

 

Harry felt it was about time that he told someone about his fascination with certain articles of clothing and who was a better confidant than his very best level-headed friend, Hermione? Ron would tease him to no ends and he _would_ tell Ron but only when he felt a little less insecure about his specific tastes. He didn’t think he could take anymore mocking after Riddle as of the moment.

The drawback of his amazing plan was that he didn’t foreshadow Hermione doing the laughing and teasing herself. And the sight of her hunched in laughter, tears escaping the corners of her eyes, clutching her middle was an unwelcome reaction.

Harry curled in on himself, his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, his face completely red and heated as he sat on his bed. Harry had checked that Riddle was away. And he meant _away_. Riddle had a class he couldn’t skive or it would fall onto his report and he’d get his first absence strike. Riddle was a top grade student, he couldn’t afford that.

Hermione still laughed, her forehead touching the sheets of his bed. His insecurities sunk deeper.

“You know, it would be nice if you could stop laughing,” Harry said, leaning against the headboard.

“I-I know, but,” -- she took one look at him. Her face blanked on itself before the corners of her mouth twitched and then she was laughing again -- “Harry, you, you… God, you’re such an idiot.”

Maybe he had made a mistake by opening up to her. To anyone. He should’ve kept his secret in his grave, killed Riddle and then himself; commit a sort of murder-suicide so he won’t go to jail. At least then no one had the chance to walk in on him doing anything nasty and Riddle won’t be able to blab about anything either.

“I _know_ I’m an idiot,” he grumbled.

“And I take it that you’re feeling troubled, Harry?” Hermione had laid back on her back on the bed, the occasional giggle coming and going.

“Well, yeah I feel troubled. I’ve just bought two sets of lingerie, wore them and felt _good_ in them.”

“And what do you mean by feeling good?”

He saw the glint in her eyes. “Okay, no. It’s not like that. I just think that I look pretty good in them.”

“You do, do you? And you said that Riddle saw you? How did that pan out?”

“Oh yeah, it was lovely. He complimented me and everything.” Harry said with the fakest smile he could muster -- she looked as if she believed it -- before he hit her with a pillow. “Of course it was a disaster. It’s all because he doesn’t knock. He doesn’t respect my bloody privacy. And you know what he does next? He made me _wear_ the outfit and then made fun of me!”

“He… he did that?” Hermione sat up, scooting closer to Harry. “That seems like taking it a little too far…”

“You don’t say.” He deadpans.

She fidgeted with her fingers. Harry just _knew_ she wanted to laugh but she’s probably going to feel extremely bad later on. Especially since Riddle’s already made fun of him for wearing such womanly, lacy stuff. God and they even _rutted_ on the couch! He won’t admit it, but it kind of hurt to know he was just being as ridiculous as he initially thought he was being. He just wanted some validation that he _wasn’t_ a freak or abnormal or…

Christ, that really was asking too much, wasn’t it?

He forced himself to see the light of things, even though it seemed pretty bleak right now. At least Hermione knows now. Soon he’ll tell Ron just to get it over and done with and continue with his life as normal.

“You’re dying to laugh, aren’t you?”

“Nooooo, I would _never_.”

“You’re awful,” Harry, for once, got to roll _his_ eyes at Hermione rather than the other way round. “I mean, I did make him come in his pants like a teenage boy, so I’d like to count that as a win. Revenge, you know?”

“You _what_ ,” Hermione squeaked.

“He came embarrassingly fast, too.” Harry’s lips turned at the corner. Yeah, Riddle came really fast for someone who’s past their puberty stage. You’d have thought he’d be able to keep it in, but they barely touched for five minutes and there was just hot cum all over his leg.

Hermione’s brows rose in incredulity and her mouth gaped, but then she fell over laughing, clutching at her stomach like she was in pain. Harry felt self-conscious again all the sudden.

“What?”

“Harry, you- you. Do you really not see why it’s weird?”

“I know it’s weird, but it was needed for revenge. At least I didn’t go through with poisoning his tea.”

“No! No,” Hermione jumped up from his bed, jostling him. And then she started to whack him with a pillow. Pillows being wielded in this manner and trajectory surprisingly hurt a lot.

“Ow! Ow! Hermione, stop!”

She relented but not before she took one last swing at him. “You bloody idiot. What you just said was the most homosexual thing I have ever heard!”

Harry stood up. “No! I’m not… I’m not gay or anything. If anything, _he_ is! He’s the one who wanted to see!”

“But you still did it you dumb sod!”

“No you!”

Her eyes rolled to the heavens and back, sighing extremely heavily and extremely exasperatedly. At least the mirth hasn’t left her face yet. “You’re so childish.”

He did the only thing he could do. He retorted with the same words.

“No, you.”

Hermione sat up sharply. Something about her eyes made Harry wary because the last time she flashed those eyes at him, he was helping her with her fascination with knitting. Neither he nor she knew how to knit, but books were supposed to solve everything, so Hermione read books on how to knit and then they both made vaguely shapely tea coasters out of wool.

It was awful.

“Say, Harry,” she grabbed his hands in between hers. “I know this must be hard for you to come out to me --”

“Hey!”

She ignored his interruption and kept on going, “-- and I know that it must be a scary time for you, but please. Would you _please_ show me? Please? Pretty please?”

“Whoa, whoa.”

“Aw, come on Harry. You showed bloody _Riddle_ yet you won’t show me? And I’m a girl, so it wouldn’t matter anyway.”

“Wait,” Harry held his hand up. “Wouldn’t it matter _more_ because you’re a girl?”

“Why would it?”

He was dumbstruck. “Because that could be taken the wrong way?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and laid back down on the bed, hugging his pillow. “Pft, not with you. People practically think we’re siblings.”

“What? That’s just even worse.”

“They’re not going to think we’re in any sort of relationship is what I meant, even if you full on kissed me, which I’m sure you wouldn’t want to do.”

Harry winced. “No offence, but you’re my best friend.”

“None taken. Now, show me how you look!”

A determined Hermione was an insufferable Hermione and he knew he’s cave into her badgerings (if not because of her persistence, then because he wanted to show someone).

***

That whole saying with ‘Speak of the Devil and he shall come’ was actually really accurate. Harry knew about two devils in all his lifetime; he’s got a classmate called Draco Malfoy and he’s a bit of a nasty git. He likes to pick fights with Harry and because Harry is Harry, he rises up to the bait and fights with Malfoy. That’s devil number one -- he makes Harry become all violent.

Devil number two -- and the most recent devil to come into his life -- was none other than Tom Riddle himself, and that’s because of obvious reasons. For one, weren’t devils always portrayed in the clothing of beautiful beings so it would be easier to tempt mere mortals? Not to say that Riddle was _beautiful_ or anything, but Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he plucked his eyebrows to get it that neat.

He sits alone in the library, trying to concentrate on his work but ultimately failing.

Believe Harry when he says that he was tired. Stress week was about weeks seven to week ten, where he had a full week and a half of revision before the two week exam period they had. Stress weeks were the weeks that Riddle was home with his piles of books and he gets really nasty.

You wouldn’t see this Tom Riddle anywhere else outside of their little dorm room.

He was untidy, hair sticking everywhere, mugs of tea or coffee scattered around and he wore the same pyjama pants for days when he didn’t have to go out. It was a bit of a chaotic period for him, but Harry didn’t blame him. Hermione was the same and Harry took part in cleaning up after Riddle’s mess of mugs because it made him even more tetchy to see things dirty and cluttered.

Well. Now it was more complicated because Riddle studied on the dining table where the kitchen was and Harry goes to the kitchen loads of times for various things. He also studies there and they were actually really good at getting along with their study schedules.

However, since the recent changes in their… _relationship,_ it was harder to do anything when there’s this massive elephant in the room that they pointedly ignored.

So Harry, taking it in his own hands, went off to the library to study and sat in front of his laptop for about an hour. He keeps getting distracted by everything and nothing.

He gets distracted by the soft tapping of keyboards from a guy just a few seats away from him, by the sounds of rustling pages and scratching of pen on paper. He got distracted by the sound of sniffing and the girl who had her sweater vest on her head, sitting on one of the lounges. That was probably just signs of stressing seeing as this was their final term.

He huffs and begins to pack all his things into his bag again. This was a waste of his time (and he wasted time like no one else).

Going out from the library, Harry was accosted by two redheads with bright freckles.

“Hiya Harry,” Fred grinned as widely as his twin. “We were hoping to meet you here.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck. “Um, now’s not a good time. I still have a few things to do before I turn in for the night.”

“What? This early?” then both his arms were grabbed by them and he was marched down to the direction of his own dorms.

“Listen --”

“We know that it’s almost your exams --”

“-- and that everybody’s busy. Including you.”

“But we were wondering --”

“-- would you like to gather round some people for a gathering we’re about to have.”

“A gathering?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Yes.”

“A social event, where you get to dress up.”

“It’s for Communications you see.”

Harry dug his heels into the ground. “What I’m hearing here is that you guys are going to throw a dress up party.”

Both George and Fred let go of his arm to imitate shock, looking unconvincingly scandalised.

“How could you say that, Harry?”

“We’re only trying to do what’s right here --”

“-- Communications class would be so pleased!”

“It’s exams period!” Harry bursts. “You can’t be inviting these soulless individuals when they’re stressed up to their eyeballs!” Harry thought back to the girl with the sweater vest on her head, silently crying and winced. “They’ll do insane things.”

“Which is why a party is so perfect, dearest.” Fred came to hook his arm through Harry’s again.

“It’ll help them unwind, darling,” George took the other arm.

“You’re both mad.”

“Just invite them, it’s a costume party in the spirit of Hallowe’en.”

“Worst case scenario, they don’t come.”

Harry sighed. He knew he was going to round up people anyways because there were few things he said no to when it came to Fred and George. The things he did for friendship, honestly.

“Fine.”

“Atta boy, Harry,” they both said before they strolled down the path to Harry’s dorms again.

***

Tom, intent on his ways of not getting distracted during revision week, got distracted. Why you might ask? Well, Potter decided it was best if he started washing mugs (why were there so many mugs that needed to be washed) and the sound of water distracted him.

Haha, just kidding. Tom was actually distracted because of the person washing the mugs rather than the things used to wash them. He hadn’t seen much of his roommate for a while, and with very good reasons. There was a fine line between teasing and flirting, and Tom decided that whatever happened That Night on the couch blurred the lines extremely heavily.

For one, he was sure when you teased someone, you shouldn’t be cumming in your trousers like a virgin adolescent. Although, teasing and flirting went hand in hand. There was a good chance that they had just been doing both at the same time. No. No, Tom will not be thinking about that even further.

“D’you want tea or coffee?”

Tom glanced up to where Potter was getting the kettle to boil, leaning over the counter for their stash of teabags. He was wearing loose grey sweats and a black jumper, drowning him in comfy cotton. However, he knew beneath those clothes were toned limbs. Could Potter be wearing the same sheer panties underneath them?

“Mate?”

His green eyes looked slightly concerned, dark brows scrunched up and wrinkling his forehead. What in the bloody hell was happening to him? Why was he paying attention this way to the brat?

“I’ll be fine for now.”

Potter scoffed, “no you won’t. You’ll whine later on and get increasingly unbearable until I go and make you a drink. So, what will it be? Coffee or tea?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “Tea.”

“Not even a please,” he heard Potter mumble.

There was nothing out of the ordinary with how they both interact. Nothing that was suspicious or weird. Nothing sexual or awkward. It was just Tom and Harry in their dorms during stress week, trying to stay on top of their studies like normal students do.

So why was Tom feeling… unsettled?

“By the way,” Potter said over his shoulder, still fixing tea. “I’m going out later.”

“You’ve been going out a lot lately,” Tom said flippantly, correcting notes that he took down in class and revising them. “Where do you go off to?”

“I go to a bunch of places and I only go out when I need to. Not everybody’s a hermit like you on stress week, Riddle.”

Tom was offended, no, he was insulted. He wasn’t a hermit crab, he just had his priorities sorted out, unlike a certain bespectacled boy. Was it a shock to anyone that he wanted good grades? People who don’t put in the effort won’t get the grades they hope and then they’ll cry and whine about it but really it was all their faults. He, however, was smart and knows who’s fault it was when things don’t go his way.

“Actually,” Potter backtracked. “You remember Fred and George?”

Oh, Christ. How could he forget about those two meddlesome brothers? More like bothers. They were one of the few unbelievably insufferable people he’d ever met and he lived with Harry Potter. That was saying a lot.

“I recall them, yes.”

“Ah, yes, well. They’re holding a social gathering soon, for Communications.”

“Social gathering?” Tom highly doubted that.

Potter seemed to sense it too as he fidgeted on the spot and played with the hem of his sweater. “Um, yes.”

“Somehow I don’t believe that.”

“Oh, alright. It’s a party. A costume party, to be exact.”

“And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Well, I was just wondering if you’d like to come.”

Tom stared at the younger man in incredulity. A _party_ and _this_ time and age? Had he finally gone round the bend?

“That’s most likely one of your most stupid ideas, and you come up with those frequently.”

“I do not come up with stupid ideas,” Potter defended hotly. “And it’s not stupid. It’s for the students to unwind and relax before they get eaten up by stress.”

“We’ve survived this feeling before, it’s all good.”

“No, no we haven’t. Because those exams weren’t the end of year exams.”

“Regardless, I won’t come to your party.”

Potter never usually pushed with these kinds of subjects so he went back to his boring revision and began reading where he left off. He didn’t anticipate Potter suddenly appearing behind him and putting his hands on Tom’s shoulders.

Tom’s body stiffened, his pen was tight in his grip. Potter and he had avoided physical contact for obvious reasons and they hadn’t even so much as shaken hands in about three weeks -- almost a whole month.

He could feel the heat from behind him, those hands wandered down his arm and back to his shoulders again.

“Come on, Tom,” Potter said softly. He’s never called him Tom before and they avoided using first names even more aggressively since That Night. “Come to the party with me.”

Tom had to subtly clear his throat before he spoke:

“And what if I say no?”

Warm hands stilled over his biceps, squeezing them before they gripped the back of his seat and (Harry was surprisingly strong) spun his chair around. Then, Potter kneeled between Tom’s legs and put his hands on his thighs.

“Well, I can always convince you,” he said seductively, rubbing his hands along Tom’s thighs.

“Yeah?” he breathed. “And how will you do that?”

Who knew that Harry bloody Potter could be such a coy little shit? His lips tugged up in a small smile, leaning closer to Tom’s face until they were inches apart and flicking his gaze pointedly at Tom’s crotch. When his eyes snapped back to Tom’s, his breath was taken away at how vividly green they were.

“Did you like me in those lingeries, Tom?”

The question caught him off guard, but he knew his answer the moment it registered in his brain.

“Yes.”

“Would you like to see me in them again?”

Oh God, what Tom wouldn’t do to see Potter in them again.

“Yes,” he croaked.

“Then you know what to do.”

He stood up and gave Tom finger guns then went off to his room, tea forgotten, leaving Tom confused and sporting a hard-on. Fuck. What the fuck was that? Whatever that was, he knew only one thing: either attend the party with his junior and reap the rewards afterwards, or not attend and miss out on the perfect opportunity. It was such a simple decision, he needn’t think at all.

 

On the other side of the door was Harry, freaking out at the fact that he just did _that_ to Tom Riddle and it bloody worked. He grabbed his hair and started pacing the floor. He didn’t _need_ Riddle to come to the godforsaken party with him. Why did he do that?

Worst of all, he was putting his pride at stake by offering to dress up in a flimsy lingerie for Riddle!

 _But you like that, don’t you?_ His subconscious whispered at him. Oh fuck off, Harry thought angrily. At least this gave him an excuse to buy a new set of lingerie. He sat at the edge of his bed, looking at the bulge against his sweats.

Was it possible to have platonic boners? Man, Harry hoped it was a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so SORRY for the lacklustre update schedule and the long hiatus + the horrible chapters I present to you guys. I legit am so busy and so tired and I lacked motivation for so long that I considered scrapping the story, but I didn't because I love Harry in lingerie it's the only reason why I even live anymore (hehe).
> 
> Thank you so much for waiting patiently and anticipating!
> 
> My new Tumblr: https://snaxarba.tumblr.com/
> 
> Come by for a quick hi! (once I'm less busy, I'll post more artwork)


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